Lost in Forever
by vandevere
Summary: A Tragedy in 1970 changes Jack McCoy's life in unfathomable ways. AU. Minor Character Death
1. Chapter 1

_1970_

 _Two young attorneys on a Biker's Holiday. It was loads of fun. Until one of them wiped out…_

 _"Jack!"_

 _Jack McCoy didn't hear Paul Koppel's voice. He was in too much pain._

 _Pain splintered through his rib-cage, and up and down his right leg. All he could do was curl up, try to breathe through the pain._

 _He felt Paul's hands gently touching, running across his chest._

 _It only made him curl up more._

 _"Jesus…Ribs_ _ **and**_ _right leg?"_

 _"Broken?" It hurt to speak._

 _"Looks that way, Jack," Paul Koppel took off his bike helmet, helped McCoy take off his helmet too._

 _"How many fingers, buddy?" he held up his hand._

 _"Three," McCoy snarled through the pain._

 _"Good. Not seeing double," Koppel looked around._

 _The two lawyers had been on one of those twisty county lanes out in the ass end of nowhere when McCoy had wiped out. Now, they were both by the side of the road, McCoy shivering uncontrollably. Koppel took off his leather Jacket, wrapped McCoy up in it._

 _"A man could wait out here for hours before help arrived," Koppel muttered. "Don't think you have that kind of time, Jack."_

 _He stood, and panic jolted through McCoy._

 _"Don't leave me!"_

 _"I've got to Jack," Koppel bent, picked up a bike helmet. "You need medical attention. I'll get back as soon as I can."_

 _"Paul…"_

 _"I'll be back buddy. Just…hang on!"_

 _Paul ran to his bike. Then he was off…_

…..

 _Manhattan, 1994_

Adam Schiff, sitting at a table of his favorite bar. Directly across from him was his brand spanking new Executive Assistant DA.

Jack McCoy.

After Ben Stone's abrupt departure, there was literally no one else Schiff could think of to fill the void.

"How are Anna and the kids?" he asked.

"They're all fine," McCoy smiled, just a trace of nervousness in him. "Becky's out to California now, with Jim; Pauly's at NYU, studying Law. Wants to follow in his Old Man's footsteps."

"The nest is emptying…" Schiff nodded knowingly.

"Yeah…Anna's not letting it get to her. She's got her art gallery to keep her occupied. We're fine."

"Good," Schiff sipped his scotch. "Ready to be my EADA?"

McCoy grinned.

"What do _you_ think?"

…..

Claire Kincaid had arrived at the office bright and early. The stories about the new EADA were legion; his hyper-competitive nature, his habit of putting in…grueling hours at the office, and his nick-name…

 _Hang'em High McCoy._

What nobody had ever mentioned was that he was one _very_ attractive man; tall, lean, hawk-nosed, with a shock of unruly black hair.

 _Married too…_

Kincaid arrived in time to see Jack McCoy place two framed photographs in positions of importance on his desk.

One was the obligatory Family Photo, McCoy, his wife, Anna, and their two children. Rebekah and Paul.

The other had been taken some time in the late Sixties, or very early Seventies.

Two basketball players. One was clearly a young Jack McCoy, black hair flopping into his eyes. The other was slightly taller, larger across chest and shoulders.

"Paul Koppel…" There was sadness in Jack McCoy's eyes. "He was Point Guard for our team."

"Win any championships?"

"Three years running…"

He set the photo next to the family photo, placed just so…

"Is he practicing Law too?"

"No…" McCoy sighed. "He's dead."

The man squared his shoulders. Then he turned back to Kincaid.

"So, Miss Kincaid, bring me up to date. What cases do we have?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Upstate New York_

State Troopers Verbanski and Casey were in hot pursuit of two Wanted Felons, a high speed car chase.

 _Just like in the movies,_ Casey thought irritably as he floored the accelerator, Verbanski reporting on the communicator.

It ended, as most car chases ended, with the felon crashing the car. In this case, doing a solid 90-plus, the car flew off the highway, took a nosedive, right into a deep lake.

Casey braked the cruiser to a halt, as he and Verbanski surveyed the area.

Half an hour later, the place was thick with more cop cars, ambulances, the ME's Van; and scores of scuba divers.

"Neither the driver, nor his friend, survived the crash," the ME said.

"So…that's that?"

"Yep," the ME affirmed. "That's that."

But a ruckus was beginning out where the divers, and the search boats were.

"What's up?" Casey demanded.

"Think the divers found something completely unrelated to the car."

"Like what, Verbanski?"

"Don't know," Verbanski shrugged. "They're bringing it up now."

It was a large canvas bag, big enough to hold a body, and inside…

"Jesus…" Casey muttered as he peered into the bag, saw skeletal remains…

…..

Gertrude Verbanski stared down at the body at the local Morgue, still clad in fraying jeans and plaid work shirt and heavy boots.

The cause of death was pretty clear.

 _Broken skull and crushed chest…_

"How long has he been dead?" Verbanski asked.

"He's been dead around twenty to twenty-five years." the ME said. "Any clue to his identity?"

"There was a motorcycle helmet in the bag with him," Verbanski said. "He also had a wallet, with ID, in the pocket of his jeans. We're checking Dental Records, just to be sure."

If the Dental records proved the man's identity, a twenty-five-years-old mystery might just be solved…

…..

 _1 Hogan Place_

"Jack, come to my office please," Adam Schiff on the phone. "It's important."

It was a simple matter of walking across the hall, yet Jack McCoy resented the call. He was up to his eyeballs in the Crenshaw Double Murder.

 _If I don't get all my ducks in a row, Stanley Grey could literally get away with murder…_

"What is it, Adam?" he groused as he stomped through the DA's office door. "I'm _that_ close to nailing Grey to the door, and…"

McCoy stopped suddenly.

Adam Schiff wasn't alone. A man and woman were there too, both wearing the uniform of New York State Trooper.

"Jack," Schiff stood, and made the introductions. "These are State Troopers John Casey and Gertrude Verbanski. They've made a…discovery. Sit, Jack…please."

McCoy surveyed the State Troopers, swung his gaze back to Schiff.

"Please, Jack," Schiff repeated. "Sit down."

 _Must be bad…_

He sat, in the chair directly across from Schiff's desk.

"All right," he said. "I'm sitting."

Schiff sighed in relief, turned to Casey.

"Tell him what you told me."

"We found a body," Casey began. "In a canvas bag in a lake Upstate. Male, dead from traumatic wounds to head and chest. He'd been dead around twenty to twenty-five years. No cash in his wallet, but still had credit cards, and all of his IDs, including his New York Bar Association ID…"

"Bar Association…" McCoy wasn't aware of having gotten to his feet, but there he was, standing right in front of Officer Casey, and there was this roaring sound in his head.

"Mark Paul Koppell…"

McCoy heard Casey say the name. And, all of a sudden, everything was bright, and fuzzy…

Then he was back in the chair, with no clear idea of how he had gotten there, Adam pressing a full tot of Scotch into his hand. He tossed it back, hoping it would help with the bright fuzzies.

The Scotch burned, tracing its fiery path down his throat, down to chest and belly, eased his buzzing head, and the room soon took on the aspect he knew so well, and reality was _real_ again.

"Paul…" McCoy's voice sounded odd to his ears, distant, like talking into a tin can.

"He's dead, Jack," boundless compassion in Schiff's voice. "But we knew that a long time ago, didn't we?"

 _Yeah…_

McCoy bowed his head, let Schiff refill his Scotch.

 _We knew that a long time ago…_


	3. Chapter 3

Claire Kincaid looked up as the office door opened.

Jack McCoy walked in, features gray.

"Jack?" she stood, all thoughts of the Crenshaw Murders fleeing her mind.

McCoy stood there, looking at nothing, and all Kincaid could think was, _He looks like he just lost his best friend…_

"You okay, Jack?"

Her voice apparently brought McCoy's mind back.

"Claire…" his voice shook. "I…I need to be alone…"

"What happened?"

" _Please…_ Claire…" voice reduced to an agonized whisper.

Kincaid stood quickly, collecting all of the files on the Crenshaw Murders. She could work on them in her office.

"Call me if you need anything."

McCoy nodded, back to her, staring out the office window.

…..

Blessedly alone…

Feeling numb, Jack McCoy slumped into his office chair, stared at the phone on the desk.

 _Anna…I need to tell her…_

Paul Kopell had been declared dead in Nineteen Seventy-two, leaving Anna with a baby girl, and Jack had done the only thing he could think to do.

He had broken things off with Kathleen, and proposed to Anna, so she would have someone to support her and her child.

There had been no romantic feelings between them, no sexual attraction.

Only guilt on McCoy's part.

 _If I hadn't gotten hurt, Paul would never have had to go off looking for help…_

Paul had ridden off on his bike, to find a cop, or something.

The irony was that McCoy had been found by the local sheriffs about five minutes after Kopell had taken off; but Paul never came back.

 _It was like he just…disappeared off the face of the map._

McCoy sighed, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

"Manhattan Art Gallery," a perky receptionist replied.

"I need to speak to Anna, Cathy. It's important."

"I'll put you through, Mr. McCoy…"

"Jack!" Anna's voice came over the line. "Cathy said it was important."

"They found him, Anna…"

Silence on the other end.

"Anna?"

"Where is he?" Anna's voice shook too.

"Think the troopers said they brought him to the Morgue."

"I…I'll meet you there!"

Anna hung up. McCoy put the phone down, picked up his jacket.

…..

Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Mike Logan had been called up to Adam Schiff's office. There, Troopers Casey and Verbanski in attendance, Schiff had filled them both in on the situation.

"I want you four to work together on this," Schiff spoke grimly. "I want to know how Paul died. I want to know if it was an accident, or…not. Unless you are told otherwise, you will report directly to me."

"Not Jack McCoy?" Briscoe raised an eyebrow.

"He's too emotionally invested in this, Detective Briscoe. He and Paul Kopell were literally best friends; and Jack has lived all these years believing himself responsible for Paul's death. He might not be capable of rational thought in this instance."

"So, we work behind his back…" Briscoe sighed. "Hope the Counselor is the forgiving type…"

"He'll be busy on the Crenshaw Case," Schiff rapped his desk lightly. "Knock on wood…"

"Yeah…"

 _Knock on wood…_

Something told Briscoe that McCoy would take detectives going behind his back on this _very_ personally.

…..

Jack McCoy stood just outside the Morgue, waiting for Anna. He didn't have to wait long.

"Jack!" she ran up, and all he could think of was to throw his arms around her, hug her tightly.

"You ready?" he asked her. "I called ahead. They're expecting us."

Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers was waiting for them, presiding over a sheet-draped form.

"He's been dead for around twenty-five years," she warned them.

"So...?" McCoy fought the trembling in his voice.

"It's just bones," compassion in Rodgers' voice.

McCoy looked at Anna. She nodded, taking hold of his hand, gripping it fiercely.

"Ready," she said, and McCoy nodded.

 _We're as ready for this as we can be…_

Gently, Rodgers drew the sheet back, just enough to show the head and shoulders.

It was just a naked skeleton, skull broken in several spots.

"Cause of death was traumatic injuries to the head and chest," Rodgers spoke solemnly. "For what it's worth, death was probably instantaneous. He didn't feel a thing."

Anna's grip on McCoy's hand tightened, became painful.

He drew her close as Rodgers covered the body again, felt her body shaking against his.

 _We knew he was dead this whole time. We've been mourning all these years._

But, without a body to bury, it had never been… _official_.

Now it was.

Paul Kopell was home.

 _We can bury him now…_


	4. Chapter 4

Two NYPD Detectives, and two NY State Troopers, going over Paul Kopell's personal effects…

The tattered jeans, the shirt, boots, wallet, and the motorcycle helmet.

The helmet was black, with golden lightning bolts engraved on the sides.

As per Adam Schiff's instructions, _everything_ was dusted for prints.

"So," Casey summed up the findings. "Clothes have only Kopell's fingerprints, the wallet has Kopell's prints, and two other prints. And the helmet has Kopell's prints, Jack McCoy's prints, _and_ the two unknown prints."

"Well…" Detective Lennie Briscoe shrugged. "Paul Kopell and Jack McCoy were besties at the time, so I'm sure they swapped gear back and forth a bit. It's what besties do. It's those two unknowns that worry me…"

"Not unknown anymore," Detective Mike Logan spoke up as he put his cell phone away. "Those prints belong to two prison guards; George White, and Claude Barry. They were employed at Greer State Prison at the time Kopell disappeared."

"Near Utica and Rome," Casey grunted.

"And also pretty close to where McCoy had that accident back in Nineteen-seventy," Verbanski spoke up. "Where are White and Barry now?"

Logan looked over his notes.

"Claude Barry died three years ago. George White's still working at Greer, though."

"Good," Casey cracked his knuckles. "Let's go talk to him…"

"What about Kopell's gear?"

"Give it to Kopell's next-of-kin," Briscoe paused, thinking. "That would be Anna McCoy…"

…..

One of the 27th's detectives-Tony Profaci-had returned Paul Kopell's things to Anna. Now, she and Jack McCoy were looking at the small pile of stuff on the kitchen table.

Jack McCoy looked down at the small, forlorn-looking pile; at the frayed, tattered jeans and shirt, the boots, the muddy wallet, and the motorcycle helmet.

"Jack…" Anna picked up the helmet, cradled it in her hands.

"He was wearing _your_ helmet?"

McCoy stared at the helmet in her hands. It had been so long since he had last seen it.

Now, the memory came back, crisp and clear, as if it had only happened yesterday…

 _Jack, ahead of Paul, speeding down this twisty country lane, early afternoon sun a blaze of light and warmth overhead._

 _A creature…a mouse or squirrel…darts out from a bush, skitters right across McCoy's path. Startled, he brakes…_

 _And, as time slows, Jack knows he's well and truly fucked…_

 _The Yamaha flips, end over end, dragging the rider along as it flips. McCoy feels the sickening snap, as his right knee explodes with agony, and then, the bike flips again, handlebar impacting his chest…_

 _"Jack!" McCoy barely hears Paul's panic stricken voice._

 _He's curled up, like a pill bug, and it's all he can do just to breathe…_

McCoy reached out, took the black helmet, with its gold lightning bolts, from Anna's hand.

"Paul got to my side," he sighed. "He'd taken his helmet off. Then he helped me take mine off too. He wanted to check for concussion…the old _how many fingers routine…_ "

 _Our bike helmets were on the ground, side by side. Paul must simply have grabbed the first one his hands found…_

 _….._

"George White," Adam Schiff repeated the name over the phone.

"Yeah, Counselor," Lennie Briscoe's voice over the line. "We're on our way down to Greer, to talk to him, and, it's not looking good for this to be an accident."

"No," Schiff sighed. "It's not…"

 _If it had been a legitimate accident, Paul Kopell's body would have been found, and reported in; and Jack, and Anna too, would have been able to mourn and move on. Instead, Kopell's body was stuffed into a canvas sack, and dumped into a lake._

Adam Schiff sighed again. He _hated_ the thought of going behind Jack McCoy's back.

The Executive Assistant DA had been living with this guilt for the whole twenty-five years; the guilt of his self-perceived responsibility for Paul Kopell's death.

 _But, this was no accident._

 _This was murder._


	5. Chapter 5

Adam Schiff found himself in the unusual position of needing an assistant.

 _I can hardly ask Jack to assist me in investigating the murder of his best friend…_

And, since Schiff was running this investigation behind Jack McCoy's back, that ruled Claire Kincaid out too; although she would have been ideal for the job.

 _Well, there are plenty of sharp young people about, and they're all_ _ **here**_ _, working under me…_

Schiff finally settled on this young woman.

Abbie Carmichael reminded Schiff of a young Jack McCoy; harsh, judgmental, impetuous, brave, brilliant, and just. It made his heart ache to look at her.

"Mr. Schiff…" there was a touch of Texas in her voice, the merest hint of twang. She was also just a bit intimidated.

His request for her to see him in his office had come out of the blue…

"Miss Carmichael," he stood, poured a cup of coffee. "Please sit."

Schiff had taken the time to learn how she liked her coffee.

"I need your help," he said, after he had taken his own seat. "You hear of the Kopell Case?"

"A little," Carmichael spoke cautiously. "His remains were found a few days ago. Is this why you asked for me?"

"Yes," Schiff stood. "Understand, you will need to be discreet. I don't want word of this coming to Jack McCoy's ears. You will report to me, and only me. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Carmichael nodded.

"Good," Schiff stood, handed her a list. "These are your contacts."

"Detectives Lennie Briscoe and Mike Logan?"

"And me, too," Schiff smiled.

…..

"Jack! We just heard!" Nathan DuPont came up, his wife, Kathleen in tow.

 _Kathleen…_

Yet more guilt assailed Jack McCoy. Feeling responsible for Paul Kopell's death, McCoy had broken things up with Kathleen, so he could marry the pregnant Anna.

Well…a year later, Kathleen had married Nathan DuPont.

 _At least she had the great good fortune to marry a wealthy man…_

But it had been years before Kathleen and Jack could be in the same room without one, or the other, fleeing…

And there had been plenty of those times…

 _Paul…Nate…and me…_

McCoy sighed as he took DuPont's hand, offered in condolence.

 _At NYU, during Law school, we were the Three Musketeers. We did everything together…_

The A-Student, the B-Student, and the C-Student.

 _I went to work for the government, Nate went into Probate, and Paul…_

McCoy sighed again.

 _Paul died…_

…..

 _Greer State Prison_

"You wanted to see me?" George While walked into the Employee Break Room, where Detective Briscoe and State Trooper Casey were waiting.

"Yeah…" Briscoe stood casually. "We're investigating a death that occurred nearby, about twenty-five years ago."

"All right," White leaned against the wall.

"Man's name was Paul Kopell," Casey spoke up. "Found in a canvas sack in yon lake," he pointed off in a vaguely Easterly direction.

George White blinked, then shrugged.

"It happened twenty-five years ago, you said. What makes you think I know anything?"

"Your fingerprints," Briscoe smiled brightly. "On his wallet, and on his bike helmet too. Hey, your prints are all over that canvas sack too. You, and Claude Barry, ran Paul Kopell off the road. Then, after you killed him, you stuffed his body in that canvas sack and tossed it all into that lake."

Briscoe had the dubious pleasure of seeing George White go… _white_ to the gills. He sat suddenly, head bowing.

Now, Casey went on the attack.

"Why did you do it, George? Why kill Paul Kopell? He was trying to look for help for an injured friend. What possible reason could you have for killing him?"

 _Good Cop…Bad Cop…_

"Don't bother," Lennie put as much scorn as he could into his voice. "We know why he killed Kopell. His wallet was empty of cash. And now that we have you, George…"

Now he bent over White, voice lowered conspiratorially.

"You know what prisoners do to jailed cops and prison workers? It's not pretty, George."

"Wait!" White stammered. "It's not…We didn't…We were _told_ to do it."

 _"Told?"_

"Yeah! Our boss at the time. He told us to look out for a guy wearing _that_ helmet, drive him off the road. He died, and that…we panicked, put him in that bag, and dumped him!"

"Your boss?" Briscoe raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah…" White nodded. "Warden William DuPont."

"Huh…" Casey grunted. "He retired just last year. What do we do with White now?"

"We take him to Manhattan," Briscoe stood, glaring down at the man. "And he's going to co-operate with us fully, and in every particular. Isn't that right, George?"


	6. Chapter 6

_27_ _th_ _Precinct_

Interrogation Room One was feeling rather crowded today.

George White, attended by Sally Bell, facing Detectives Briscoe and Logan, accompanied by State Troopers Casey and Verbanski. The last member of the party was ADA Abbie Carmichael.

Bell cleared her throat.

"The Defendant is willing to assist the investigation in any way he can," she said. "But he would like something in return for his cooperation."

"Like what?" Carmichael challenged. "A man was killed. There's going to be prison time."

"Can't be the general population!" George White made to stand, was stopped by Sally Bell's warning hand.

"Man Two," Bell faced Carmichael. "Solitary confinement. Minimum Sentence."

"What do we get in return for our generosity?" Carmichael demanded.

"The name of the man who ordered it." White leaned forward. "Warden William DuPont."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Casey protested. "DuPont's a good man. Very law-abiding."

"I'm telling you! He ordered it!" White glared right back at him. "Wouldn't tell me why, but he _insisted_ on it. Got the feeling that more than my job might be on the line if I refused."

Carmichael looked from White to Bell.

"Book him," she said. "Man Two."

"What about Warden DuPont?" Briscoe asked.

"Get him to come over," Carmichael stood. "Do a back-check on him. See if anything surfaces."

…..

 _1 Hogan Place_

"What do I have to do?"

There was resignation in Stanley Grey's voice. He was sitting in Jack McCoy's office, accompanied by Danielle Melnick.

The Crenshaw murder investigation had come to an abrupt halt, with DNA evidence proving Grey's guilt beyond any shred of doubt.

"You plead guilty to two counts of Murder One," Jack McCoy sat at his desk.

At Melnick's nod, Grey nodded too.

"Yeah…" he sighed. "They swindled me out of all my cash, on the promise of giving me a child for my wife."

"You should have called _us_ , _"_ Claire Kincaid spoke gently. "Larceny by False Promise. We _do_ prosecute those cases."

The first case Claire Kincaid worked with Jack McCoy had turned out to be one of those cases.

 _Women, dead of breast Cancer because of the promises of Dr. Nancy Haas…_

"Allocution will be required," Jack McCoy was speaking.

"Yes," Danielle Melnick nodded. "We'll see you at Court?"

"Yes," McCoy stood.

…..

The next day, it was all done, and Stanley Grey had confessed to the murders, and been sentenced for them.

Jack McCoy went back to Hogan place, pleased with his success, and eager to let Adam Schiff know the case had been solved favorably. But Schiff wasn't there.

"He's down at the 27th," Schiff's receptionist explained. "I don't know why."

"Thanks, Rhoda."

 _Why's Adam down at the 27_ _th?_

McCoy frowned.

 _Guess I'll tell him there…_

The attorney turned to leave.

"Jack…" Claire Kincaid right behind him.

"Adam's at the 27th for some odd reason," McCoy explained as he headed out. "I'll meet him there."

…..

 _27th Precinct_

Adam Schiff, and Abbie Carmichael, along with State Trooper John Casey, and Detective Lennie Briscoe, sitting in Interrogation One.

All four facing the recently retired William DuPont, and his attorney, Craig Sanford.

"William DuPont," Adam Schiff spoke. "Of the DuPont Family. Interesting…You could have been a banker, or a diplomat. You chose to work in the Penal System."

"Not all of us are snooty-snoots," DuPont, a vigorous-looking man in his late sixties said.

"True…" Adam Schiff agreed. "But, still, one of your workers at Greer has implicated you in a criminal act that left one man dead; and he has just enough credibility to make things uncomfortable for you."

"Who's his accuser?" Sanford demanded.

"In due time," Schiff sat back, staring at DuPont. "A man was killed on your orders back in Nineteen Seventy. His name was Mark Paul Kopell. He, and a friend of his were on holiday in the area."

The rap on the door startled everyone. Jack McCoy walked in, accompanied by a rather embarrassed-looking Detective Mike Logan.

McCoy was white with barely-concealed fury.

"A party, Adam, and you didn't invite me?"

Schiff sighed, looked up at Logan.

"You told him, Mike?"

"Well…" Logan looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. "It was kinda hard to miss all of you here, sitting all together."

 _Damn…_

"Jack," Schiff stood. "Follow me, please."

McCoy followed his boss out into the hall.

"What's going on, Adam?" the younger man demanded. "You…running an investigation without me?"

"I do that on occasion," Schiff faced his EADA. "Especially _this_ case. Paul Kopell…"

"What about him?"

"It wasn't an accident. He was murdered. Two prison guards employed at Greer. They ran him off the road."

McCoy stood there, utterly still.

"Why?" he rasped.

" _Their_ boss ordered it," Schiff nodded at William DuPont, still sitting in Interrogation One. "We're trying to find out why."

McCoy looked like he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the concept.

"He was murdered?"

"It looks that way," Adam laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Let me deal with this, Jack."

"But, I-"

"You're too close to this, Jack," Schiff spoke firmly. "How's the Crenshaw Case coming?"

"It's…" McCoy glanced through the one-way, at William DuPont. "It's solved. Grey pleaded out. He Allocuted just a few hours ago. He's doing Life."

"Good," Schiff nodded. "I'll deal with this one. There's a juicy Bribery/Larceny case that'll take up your time."

"Anson and Kepler?"

"The very same. See to it…"

"Adam…I…"

"I know what you want. But, Jack, if our roles were reversed, what would _you_ say to me?"

McCoy sighed, eyes looking down.

"Yeah…" he eventually looked back up.

There was pain in McCoy's eyes as he turned to leave; pain, and anger.

 _Sorry, Jack. Don't want to add to your grief._

To investigate murder, any murder, a certain amount of emotional distance was required.

Paul Kopell had been Jack McCoy's best friend at the time he disappeared; and McCoy had long blamed himself for that.

 _How much worse it must be now that he knows Paul's death wasn't an accident?_


	7. Chapter 7

_27_ _th_ _Precinct_

 _Interrogation One_

"Let me repeat myself," William DuPont said, just a hint of a snarl in his voice. "I neither ordered, nor condoned, the attack that left Paul Kopell dead, back in Nineteen Seventy."

"That's funny," ADA Abbie Carmichael's voice held just as much of a snarl as DuPont. "George White specifically mentioned you. He said you were very insistent that he, and Claude Barry, should follow your orders. White strongly insinuated that he might lose his job-at the very least-if he refused."

"So, it's _he said-he said_ …" Craig Sanford spoke up. "Look, you've got White's fingerprints on Kopell's stuff, and Barry's too. But the only thing you've got that links White and Barry to my client, is that my client was their boss then; and that's _all_ you have. We'll talk when you're ready to be reasonable."

Sanford stood, motioning DuPont to do the same.

"Unless you have anything else," he added. "We'll be leaving."

Carmichael sighed, in deep frustration.

"Is this what it's usually like?" she turned to Detective Lennie Briscoe after DuPont and Sanford had departed.

"Yeah…" Briscoe nodded. "Can be maddening sometimes. You just got to be patient, or it'll drive you nuts."

He sighed.

"Maybe Mike will have better luck…"

"Where's Mike?"

"He and John Casey are busy looking at Greer's phone call logs."

"Those go back to Nineteen Seventy?"

"Miss Carmichael…" Briscoe was smiling widely. "Greer is a State Prison. They save _everything_ …"

His Cell Phone rang.

"Briscoe speaking." He briefly looked up at Carmichael, eyes twinkling. "Speak of the devil. Yeah, Mike, I'm all ears. What's the dope? You sure? I mean…Okay…This might change everything."

Briscoe put his phone away, turned to Carmichael, all humor suddenly gone.

"You're not going to believe this," he said.

…..

Jack McCoy could not recall ever having been quite _this_ angry.

He and Anna had been out to lunch with Nathan DuPont, and Kathleen. Paul Kopell's funeral was just a few days away.

But that was when Detectives Briscoe and Logan arrived, just in time for Dessert and coffee.

And now, everyone was _here_ , back in Interrogation One.

Jack McCoy and Anna, Nathan DuPont and Kathleen, George White, William DuPont, Sally Bell, Craig Sanford, Abbie Carmichael; and Detectives Briscoe and Logan, and State Troopers Case and Verbanski.

And Adam Schiff…

"Adam?" it was a real struggle to keep his voice steady. "What is this?"

Schiff closed his eyes, sighed.

"Why don't you take Anna and leave?" he suggested.

"Not on your life," McCoy growled. "What…the…hell…is…going…on?"

Schiff stared back at him.

"All right," he sighed again as he stepped up to McCoy.

"You sure you want to witness this?" Schiff's voice lowered to a whisper. "It's going to hurt."

McCoy could only glare back at him.

Schiff let out a breath as he turned back to the others gathered around the table. He muttered something under his breath. It sounded a lot like, _don't say I didn't warn you…_

Schiff turned to Abbie Carmichael, nodded to her.

"Proceed, Miss Carmichael," he ordered.

"It seems we might have made a bit of a mistake," the young ADA said as she looked through her notes. "So that's why everyone is here now. Mr. White…"

She looked at George White.

"You said William DuPont ordered you to kill Paul Kopell."

"Yeah…" White nodded. "Was really insistent about it too. Said kill the guy with the black bike helmet, the one with lightning bolts on it…"

"I did no such thing!" William DuPont stood, body trembling with fury.

"Did he tell you in person?" Carmichael asked. "Or by phone?"

"By phone, of course!" White snapped.

Carmichael nodded, turned to the State Troopers.

"You have the phone records?" she asked the pair.

"Phone records?" White turned stunned eyes to Carmichael.

"Hey, State Prisons do record phone calls. _All_ phone calls," Casey shrugged. "Greer's phone records go back to Nineteen sixty-eight."

"Damn straight!" William DuPont said. "And they'll prove I didn't order anything of the kind!"

"Especially seeing as one of Warden DuPont's Administrative Aides had suffered an acute attack of appendicitis at the time." Verbanski said. "Warden DuPont was in the Infirmary all afternoon."

George White frowned at that.

"But I talked to him on the phone," he said. "He did order me to do this."

"And the phone call Mr. White is talking about _did_ come from the Warden's office." Verbanski confirmed. "We have no doubt about that at all."

"Then we are facing an irreconcilable dilemma," Craig Sanford said. "The man who allegedly ordered the…hit could not have ordered the hit because he wasn't even in his office at the time the call was made."

"Which is why we will be dismissing charges against William DuPont," Adam Schiff spoke up. "Provided he cooperates with us in our case against his nephew."

For Jack McCoy, it felt like a colossal punch to the chest. Suddenly breathless, he had to sit.

" _Nathan?"_ his voice practically came out in a squeak.

"I told you this was going to hurt, Jack," infinite compassion in Schiff's voice. "Firstly, our investigations show Nathan DuPont was visiting his Uncle at his place of work. Secondly, before Paul's death, you, Jack, were engaged to Kathleen McCrory, and I seem to remember Nathan was also competing for her hand. Thirdly, the kill order didn't name any names. George White said the order was to kill the man wearing a specific helmet; one that was black, with golden lightning bolts. Do I need to spell it out for you, Jack?"

Jack sat there, numb, right down to his fingers and toes.

"That helmet was mine…" he barely recognized the sound of his own voice over the raging sound in his head.

"So, tell us what happened…" Schiff spoke gently.

"I wiped out," McCoy bowed his head. "Broken right knee and ribs. Paul…"

His voice broke, and he had to swallow the grief down.

"Paul…" he started over. "He had taken off his helmet, and he helped me take mine off too. He wanted to check for concussion. I was hurt too badly to move, so he grabbed the first helmet his hands found, and took off, looking for cops, or something."

Shaking, he hugged himself tightly, felt Anna's arms go around him too.

"Paul died because he was wearing _my_ helmet?"

Grief transmuted to…rage…a white-hot fury that made McCoy's vision strobe, much like when he had his migraine attacks.

 _Nathan killed Paul…_ Abruptly, he found himself on his feet, several feet from where he had been previously, hands wrapped around Nathan DuPont's throat, other hands pulling him away. The whole thing felt dreamlike somehow.

Only the fury was real…

 _Nathan killed Paul because he wanted to kill me…_

…..

It had been the most appalling thing Adam Schiff had ever seen.

 _I've never seen Jack like this…_

Grief, and rage, in equal amounts…

Fortunately, Detective Briscoe had hauled McCoy away before he could strangle Nathan DuPont.

Now, McCoy was sitting there, Anna next to him, arms about him. McCoy didn't even seem to be aware of her. He was staring off into the distance.

 _Shattered…_

Kathleen DuPont was looking at her husband, as if looking at a stranger, and no wonder…

 _He ordered a man's death; and that he got the wrong man makes no difference. He wanted Jack McCoy dead, and killed Paul Kopell instead. Callous disregard, that…_

Nathan DuPont, on the other hand, had the look of a man who knew all the chicks were coming home to roost.

"I want a lawyer," he sighed.

…..

Paul Kopell's funeral was a subdued one. Anna kept a gentle arm around her husband as Paul's grave was lowered into the ground.

Paul had been found and brought home. But at such a terrible cost…

 _It had been Nathan DuPont all along. How he must have cheered when Jack broke off his engagement to Kathleen. So Nathan and Kathleen got married, and Jack-out of desperate guilt-married me, to provide for me and Paul's unborn child…_

Kathleen had divorced Nathan upon learning his role in Paul's death, and Nathan…

Perhaps he realized that everything was lost. He had admitted his guilt, was now doing Twenty-five to Life in a State Prison.

 _And Jack and I?_

 _Still together, after twenty-five years…_

Jack McCoy wasn't an ideal marriage partner. He put in truly hellish hours at the office, and he did have wandering eyes…

But Anna had known that about Jack from the start.

The surprising thing was that he _had_ been faithful to her, limiting himself to wandering eyes.

As for the hours he worked, Anna had long since accepted that John James McCoy was a workaholic of the purest ray serene.

 _In spite of it all, we kept it together,_ Anna realized. _And we did it because of the one person we both loved…_

Paul Kopell…


End file.
